Maybe a King
by Mystical Underpants
Summary: Alistair finds himself in a confrontation with his Warden companion after revealing his feelings. The romantic life of a bastard prince is not one of easy decisions, and he's made to realize this. Potential one-shot, depends on reviews/motivation.


A small, pale-faced elven Magi sits at the edge of her camp, large eyes cast over the surrounding forest. The journey out of the Magi tower had been bittersweet. Now everyone was saved, and the Circle could rebuild and continue with their ways. It was strange to leave the tower a second time, again with the sinking feeling she may never return. Though some greatly hated being raised by the Magi, Varisian had been quite pleased with her upbringing. It was they that had taken her from a life of servitude and squalor. She had a lot to be thankful for.

Her thoughts must have showed plainly on her face, as a man sat at her side, and she hadn't even noticed. "You know, they say if you keep your face in one expression for too long, it'll freeze that way."

Varisian blinks, confused, before turning her attention to the man. "They also say not to startle someone, lest you risk injury."

"Do they say that? Sure it isn't just you?" Alistair grins mischievously, an arm sliding around her shoulders. "What're you thinking about?"

The elf woman sighs, bowing her face so that her hair fell forward and obscured her features. Unconsciously she leaned into him, a hand settling gently on his knee. The sound of harsh laughter and the clinking of blades being sharpened behind them told her the rest of the camp was distracted. She took this moment to settle a soft kiss to his cheek. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

He blushes a deep red, and despite a moment of hesitation, the man pushes forward. "Come now, we've made it this far, and we've never hidden anything. I told you about… about my mother, and my father being king."

She huffs, shooting him a frustrated look out of the corner of her eyes. "Mmm, guilt trip, that is unlike you."

"What? I-I… I'm not trying to guilt you!"

"I know, I'm teasing." Varisian sighs, scooting ever so slightly closer. The night was rather chilly, and he had swapped his armour for simple cloth pants and a shirt, so he was warm to the touch. She reveled in that warmth, for it was something she very rarely got to enjoy with all of their party watching. "I was just thinking about the Circle. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't go back and change anything that happened. Had Duncan not come and picked me, I would still be there, and who knows? Perhaps I would have become an abomination, too."  
"Oh, I don't know about that." He smiles, his large, clumsy hands ruffling her hair. "I think you would have done a lot of good had you never become a Warden."

"Maybe. I doubt it, though. Perhaps I haven't been a Warden for very long, but I know if I had not undergone the challenges we've faced since I arrived, I wouldn't have done the Circle any good. Not if all of this had transpired anyway. Still, I almost miss them. They were my family."

He nods, pressing a gentle but quick kiss to her temple before pulling his arm away from her shoulders. "I understand. When all of this is over, you'll have plenty of time to revisit them."

A tiny laugh escapes the Magi's throat. "The thought is appreciated, but I will not think of visiting them again. Who knows how this will end? If I'll live? No, I have to keep my thoughts on the Blight ahead. I have to keep my thoughts on… on staying sane."

Alistair smiles faintly, his eyes moving away from her to look out over the forest as well. "I feel the same way. Part of me wishes that I could leave this all behind and run away with you, pretend it doesn't exist."

"What?"

"Huh? Nothing." He shuts down, face burning a brilliant shade of red.

"Run away with… me…"

"No, no, didn't say it. You're imagining things."

"Alistair," the woman huffs, reaching up to force his face in her direction. "Run away with me?"

A loud groan escapes the Templar's lips. "I'm sorry, it just came out, like word vomit. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No! No, of course you didn't upset me. I was just surprised by it. I… didn't expect something so blunt out of you."

Several moments pass between them in silence, but finally Alistair breaks it, his thick brows knitting together. "Am I bold in assuming there is something between us? Morrigan gives me hell for it when you are not around, and Wynne… she tells me to keep feelings in check for now, to keep my heart guarded. Even now you sit close enough I can feel the heat of your body."

She hesitates, quite unsure of the best way to answer his inquiry. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she knew _what_ she wanted to say to him. Problem was, she wasn't sure it was a good idea. In hindsight, they had perhaps been more obvious about their affections than wise, with soft kisses to the cheek or temple (though never to the lips), gentle caresses of hand against arm, or his fingers through her hair. But now he was asking her to reveal her feelings, to assure him that he was not alone here. How she wanted to tell him…

"It is not too bold of you, no…"

He doesn't look relieved at her words, but his muscles release their tension somewhat. "Varisian, I'm not stupid. I know I come off that way sometimes, as Morrigan is too keen to inform me, but I know that I'm not the only one feeling something. At least, I hope not. I'm…. not… right?"

Again she hesitates, and with each second that she does not answer, the light in his eyes seemed to diminish. Finally she forces herself to speak, unable to take the pained look on his face any longer. "Of course you're not alone, Alistair. I just never said anything because we have a duty to the Wardens. To this nation. And dear Maker, you are a prince. I am an elf. My people are supposed to kiss the shoes of yours."

His face goes from hurt to angry in no time, his muscles tensing hard once again. "You promised you wouldn't hold my birth against me. This is why I hesitated in telling you, because I don't want you treating me different! What do I have to do to prove to you I don't _care_ where you come from? And on that note, I want you to not care where _I_ come from."

"I _don't_ care where you come from! That isn't what I meant at all. I just meant that… Alistair, if it goes anywhere, and you're put in the position where you would become king…"

"I told you already I don't want it."

"But what if you change your mind?"

He grew silent then, eyes burning. This time he took his time in answering, wanting each word to be exactly what he meant. Finally he sighs. "If the time were to come… I will… I honestly don't know what I'd do."

Varisian felt her heart clench in her chest, a painful stabbing feeling pressing deep into her stomach. Those words shouldn't have hurt as much as they did, but now that she felt the pain she wished she hadn't asked. "Then perhaps we should just forget this now."

"…Really? Varisian, really? I don't know what I would do, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. What if you were in my position?"

Without a single ounce of irony in her voice, or any hesitation, the little elf woman meets his eyes with her own. "I would pick you, no matter what. After all of this, where will we be? If we survive, what then? The Blight is our priority, but when it is over—" She is silenced quickly by the presence of a looming figure over the two. Looking up, her eyes narrow at their new guest. "Yes, Morrigan?"

"Where do you keep your herbalism supplies? I'm all out."

"In the crate next to my tent."

"Thank you." With that, the woman turns on her heel and heads towards Varisian's tent, though she shoots the two a glance over her shoulder.

"Anyway, as I was saying." She returns her eyes to the Warden at her side, but he was already standing to leave. "Alistair, don't go…" But the man didn't listen, or even offer a response. He simply stood and disappeared inside his tent.

"Well, fuck," Varisian whispers, turning her gaze back over the dark forest. It must have been late by then, but she couldn't tell. All she could tell was there was a sinking feeling in her chest that she had to fix the argument or risk the relationship being broken forever.

But what relationship? What relationship was there really? She mulled over this for a while, part of her trying to destroy her own feelings. The Blight could kill them after all. It had killed Duncan, such a skilled warrior. They had none of his prowess, she tried to convince herself. They had never shared each other's bed. They had never shared even a kiss. So what was there, really?

But she knew, even as she thought it, that kisses and sex may be fun even if you do not love the person, but when emotion is behind it, the touch becomes something different. If no touch has been had it doesn't change anything, it just leaves more to happen.

So after all that deliberating, she finally forces herself off the ground and across the camp. Everyone else had long since gone to bed, and the fire at the center was beginning to burn itself out. Nobody was around to see her as she slipped silently into his tent.

Alistair was asleep, but he didn't seem to be enjoying himself. His face was contorted as if in pain. A nightmare, perhaps. Seeing him there, she debates waking him up, but ultimately ops to lie at his side, her arms snaking around his middle. It takes a moment, but finally he opens his eyes. "Varisian?" he whispers, staring at her in the darkness.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, pressing her forehead to his, nuzzling his nose. "I shouldn't have pushed the subject. You were opening up to me, and I stomped all over it."

He smiles, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Thank you. I honestly don't know what will happen, but I promise you I will do everything I can to… to be with you, if that is what you want."

Her laugh comes soft, breath warm against his face. She doesn't get the chance to respond before she feels his mouth pressed against hers, rough, calloused hands settled on her lower back to pull her to him. She was never sure how many moments passed, or how many minutes, but finally she forced herself to pull her lips from his. "Alistair."

"Varisian."

She doesn't respond, instead burying her face in the crook of his neck. He simply pulls his blankets around them, eyes closing for sleep once more.

Note: One-shot, maybe. Depends on the response I get. Kind of just came up with it while playing the game, wrote it, and here it is!


End file.
